my love don't love me

Summary:

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Work Text:

A door closes with a soft click.

A prelude to the end.

Sungjoo is sitting at the kitchen table, fingers flat on the wood surface as though he's trying to sink his flesh into the grain that swirls beneath his skin. He's not looking up, not listening to the sound of footsteps passing back and forth in the hallway, fabric rusting and cardboard brushing doorframes.

"I don't understand," he says, and Seungyoun doesn't say anything, biting his lip across the table until red beads on the surface.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, before he gets up, the legs of the chair he's sitting on scraping the wood as he pushes it away from the table, away from Sungjoo, always away and never back together again.

His back, walking down the hallway to the spare bedroom, not the room they share, not their room, there's no their, there's no us, there's. . .the thoughts tumble over in Sungjoo's head and twist and tangle his tongue into knots that he can't swallow.

The sound of the spare room door closing echoes through the house like a cannon, and Sunjoo jerks back, shot through the heart.

There are voices outside, Seungyoun's friends, the sound of a truck backing into the driveway, engine turning off with the faint metallic clatter of keys on a keychain rattling. Chatting. Happiness.

"Hey!" a voice says, bright in the dimness of the house. Footsteps emerge from the bedroom, and Sungjoo thinks about moving in. Carrying boxes together, laughing, tripping over a stray book, tripping onto the bed in tangles.

Kissing. Running his tongue over the warm seam of Seungyoun's lips.

"I don't love you anymore," Seungyoun says, and Sungjoo learns what it's like to have your heart shatter in your chest, the glass shards exploding out to embed themselves in the soft flesh between your ribs.

There's a voice from the hallway, a hesitant sound. Sungjoo doesn't lookk up.